I press my eye to the gap. Sweat stings the socket.
Below, a basin sits on a rusted stand. Steam rises from the water. Maximus soaks the cloth. He wrings it until his knuckles turn white. His hands are wrecked. Split skin healed over grit. Ridges of bone that never set right. They hang open, trembling slightly with a restraint that costs him.
Maximus takes Teddy's hand. It is a ruin. Fused bone. Weeping sores. Maximus does not flinch. He traces a ridge of scar tissue with the warm cloth. He is careful. He avoids the raw spots.
Teddy does not pull away. His mismatched eyes slide shut. He rests his forehead against Maximus's arm.
"Gentle," Maximus whispers. The cloth finds a sore on Teddy's neck. A weeping hole. He dabs it. "Skin is tough here. Good."
The cloth splashes into the basin. Grey water sloshes over the rim. Maximus ignores it.
He cups the ruin of Teddy's face. His thumbs find the temples.
"The villagers. They look at you and they cry," Maximus says. "They think you are broken. They think skin should be soft." He runs a thumb over the hard, knotted tissue on Teddy's cheek. "Soft things rot, Teddy. Soft things bleed."
He leans in. Forehead to forehead. Bone to bone. "But you? You endured."
He exhales. A long, shuddering breath that rattles in his chest.
"You bent. You twisted. But you are still here."
He loves him.
I swallow the sickness. It burns going down.
He loves him because he is ruined. He loves him because he survived the worst thing in the world.
I squeeze my knife. The wood creaks. I have the angle. The back of Maximus's neck is exposed. A clear line to the spine.
But I freeze.
I look at Teddy. His eyes are locked on Maximus. He trembles with need. He looks at Maximus the way a dog looks at the man that feeds it.
My chest aches. Nora's memory bleeds through. I see the sewer again. The way Teddy stroked the Dregs. I remember the warmth that bloomed in my chest, chasing away the cold of the tunnel. She recognised the gentleness in the ruin.
If I kill Maximus now...
The thought hangs.
I look at the way Teddy clings to him. Maximus is the cause of Teddy's pain. He built the cage. But he is also the only warmth inside it. If I take him away, I leave Teddy exposed. Naked in a world that hates him.
My arm locks. The muscle refuses the command. The blade dips, the point aiming at the floor instead of the neck.
I can't.
I ease back. The metal of the shaft is cold against my spine. I will wait until the boy is gone.
The wait is a slow suffocation. I am a knot of cramping muscle in the dark. I force my lungs to sip the air. Quiet.
Teddy leaves. A slow shuffle into the shadows.
Maximus is alone. But the conversation does not end. His lips continue to move.
He pours tea from a cracked pot. Two servings. The sound of liquid hitting china is loud in the vault. He sets a cup before a velvet armchair. The fabric is bald in patches. The dust is unbroken.
Maximus leans forward. He smiles at the vacancy. He is listening. He watches the steam curl around the empty space.
"I know," Maximus says. He sounds small. A child caught in a lie. "I know it looks messy, Mother. But I'm refining the process. I'm close."
He pushes the cup. It scrapes the table.
"Why do you look at me like that?" His voice cracks. He slams his hand down. Tea spills. A dark stain spreads.
"Don't tell me I'm a monster," he whispers. His hand trembles. "I'm turning iron into silver. Just like you said."
I stop breathing. The truth hits me like a blow.
Belladonna's spy. They heard a son begging his mother and thought she was alive. They sent me to rescue a memory.
I shift my weight. The scar tissue screams. A hot, familiar pain.
Then, movement. The thing in my stomach drops. It feels like a swallowed eel thrashing through the tunnels of my body. I feel it slide past the hip joint, shouldering organs aside.
It burrows into the dead end of my leg. It pushes against the end of the bone.
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The stump swells. The skin becomes a drumhead, pulled too tight. One more push and it tears.
It wants out.
What if I let it out?
The thought curls around my mind. I am broken. A man held together by splinters. I cannot win this fight. But the thing inside me? It has no such limits.
If I let it out, will it fight for me? Will it kill the father I cannot face?
I look down. Maximus sips tea with a ghost. He looks lonely. Human.
Discharge bleeds from the stump. It hangs for a second, heavy and viscous, before it drops.
It hits the floor. A dull, wet tick.
Maximus goes still. He stares at the black mark near his foot. He lifts his head.
There is no time. I wrench the slat free. I jump.
I crash to the tiles. I try to rise, but my body fails. I am on all fours. A crippled dog at his feet.
Maximus watches me. No weapon. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing the glossy white ridges of burn tissue on his arms. He looks weary. Like a father finding a broken vase.
"You," he sighs. "The rat."
I lift my head. The righteous anger from the bell tower is gone. It died in the snow with Ward. I am ash.
"You made me choose," I rasp. "Ten names."
"And you chose them." Maximus turns away. He dismisses me with his back. "You played the game."
"I'm done playing."
I haul myself up. The movement is ugly. Ungraceful. I leave James on the floor. I leave the man who cared. What stands up is a hollow thing with a single purpose.
"I didn't come to win," I say. "I came to make sure you lose."
He turns. His lip curls. A sneer. He opens his mouth to speak.
My leg erupts.
I gave no command. The meat simply bursts. There is no sound but wet ripping. Gristle snapping. A cold, hard mass forces its way through.
I scream.
Pain obliterates thought. The pressure inside my thigh doubles. Triples. The bone cannot hold it. It shatters. Shards of my own skeleton drive into the surrounding muscle. My vision fails. The wooden leg cracks under the strain.
The mass uncoils. Black ropes lash out. They are muscle without skin. Heavy. Alive. Slick with my own blood. They strike.
Maximus flinches. His hand comes up. Too late.
The ropes punch through linen and skin. They sink into his torso. His chest caves in. It twists inward. Like water going down a drain.
He looks down. The hole in his chest is neat. Round. Impossible. He looks at me. For one second, I see the mole on his cheek.
Then he collapses. His ribs fold. Like rotten wood.
I watch the steam curl from the ruin of my father. A laugh escapes. Thin. Brittle. He is gone.
The thought is warm water. Sweet. The pain stops. Just for a second.
The black ropes retreat. They slide back into the burrow of my leg. A thick, sucking sound. They nest under the skin, sluggish and full.
I cry out. My fingers claw at the stump. It is a weeping ruin. Only a raw, open mouth of bone and black jelly.
Ice spreads. It climbs my spine. It freezes my lungs.
I am dying.
Fear hits. Not for her. Not for the boy. For me.
If James is gone... am I gone?
The dark is waiting. It is cold and endless. I don't want to go. I don't want to be nothing.
I have to move.
I crawl. My ruined leg drags. The black ropes push against the floor. They lift me. Gods, they are helping me.
I reach Maximus. I touch his shoulder. It is still warm.
I'm sorry, Evie. I'm sorry.
I engulf him. My chest splits. The black mass inside reaches out, wrapping around his bulk. My own body melts. Ribs to paste. Flesh to slime. Only my head is left. James's face, suspended in the black meat of the Blight. I press my face into his corpse. I chew. The meat resists. His skin is leathery. Tough. Black ropes shoot from the slime of my neck. They grab him. They tear.
Maximus fights. His will is a fortress. I am just a head, battering the gates. My jaw unhinges, wider than a human jaw should go, trying to swallow the castle whole. My teeth splinter. My jawbone turns to powder.
I cough. Ash explodes from my mouth. It settles on the tile. The smell of a cold hearth. A dead fire that will never warm anyone again.
My lips go slack.
My mouth, stretched too wide, tears. The corners split. Like sodden paper ripping. The split climbs my face. It severs the sight. It opens the forehead.
The face of James peels away. It sloughs off the slick, black mass underneath. Loose. Limp.
It falls into the slurry. It dissolves.
There is no James. There is no face. There is only Meat.
The pictures of the woman and the small one vanish. Smoke.
The Echo of James is extinguished. The Echo of Maximus is withered.
It is Hollow, its flame a silent mote.
'
A life consumed awakens the Blight, its pulse a frantic, ecstatic thrashing.
?
Meat is awake. Meat is hungry.
Room is too bright. Yellow sting. Hurts staring holes. Marks hurt staring holes too. Silver speck. Black burst. Make pretty shapes in air.
STOP IT! SHUT UP! DON'T LET ..T SEE!
Voice is two noises. One is cold words. One is scream cry. They fight in Meat.
It is Hollow, its flame a silent mote.
'
It is Faint, its flame a cold ash.
|
It is Steady, its flame a guttering spark.
|
It is Vivid, its flame a grasping light.
?
It is Resonant, its flame a silent, internal star.
?
. . . / / / B O U N D A R Y D I S S O L U T I O N / / / . . .
NO... CL..SE Y..UR EYES...
It is ▓▓▓▓, its fl?me a ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
?
ST..P L..OKING...
It is ▓▓▓▓, its fl?me a ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
?
Meat likes shapes. Reaches for spinning circles. Pokes shapes. Bzzt. They tickle.
NO! Cl..se y..ur eyes! I'm b..gging you! These aren't for y..u! THE SYSTEM IS L..AKING!
Voice wants Meat to be small. Wants Meat to be James bug. Meat remembers James bug. James bug was sad. James bug was a cage of bone and sorry. Meat is not sad. Meat is happy.
Voice is afraid of big. Wants walls. Wants limits. Wants Meat to fit inside man shape. But Meat is spilling over. Meat too much for little box. Meat going to eat whole world.
Meat pushes. Box breaks. Meat spills out.
It is Dormant, its pulse a soft thrum.
.
It is Stirring, its pulse a dull throb.
~
It is Surging, its pulse a wet, sickening squirm.
~~
It is Erupting, its pulse a jagged, tearing rhythm.
~~~
It is Unbound, its pulse a frantic, ecstatic thrashing.
?
. . . / / / B O U N D A R Y D I S S O L U T I O N / / / . . .
PL..ASE... D..N'T G.. TH..RE...
It is ????, its pu?se a ????????????.
?
Last shape good. A mouth hole that stays wide. Flower made of chew parts. Looks hungry. Meat hungry too. Meat and flower are same.
If you go th..t way, there is no r..turn! You'll never come back from the G..rden! PLEASE!
Meat smiles. Smile splits face meat. Feels good.
Voice sounds scared. Meat not scared.
Garden sounds big. Garden has no walls. Garden is where hunger stops. Where Meat grows forever.
Meat wants Garden.
Meat going to be pretty flower too.
? Featured Web Novel
How My Bear Defeated God [Book 1 Complete]
Drama Grimdark Progression Mythos Action
[Updates: DAILY, 9.09PM (GMT+9)]
In the freezing and unforgiving realm of Ferria, talent isn’t just nurtured - it can be stolen, sold, or carved into flesh.
Forten has nothing: no bloodline, no talent, no future. His mother is dying. His father vanished on a mission that was never meant to succeed.
All that returned was Walter, the toy bear Forten once gave his father for protection, now inexplicably back at his side... and is no longer just a toy.
Whispers about his father’s fate all point toward the Iron Tower – a climb through hostile realms and broken gods. With nowhere left to stand in a world that lets the powerless rot, Forten does the unthinkable.
He follows the trail that killed his father.
It’s a suicide mission. But so is staying where he is.
So what happens when the world tries to erase you… and you refuse to disappear?
What to Expect
Strong Lead Tower Climb Mythic Beasts Epic Worldbuilding
- A slow-burn mythic progression fantasy of grit, grief, and refusing to stay small
- Three books ready for publication with daily posts
- A sprawling world of nine realms, nine elements, nine races - and gods who are really, really mean
- Dry humour in all the wrong places
- A broken magic system which doesn't really make sense sometimes
- And yes... an adorable teddy bear named Walter